I crossed an ocean with equal parts anticipation and tension, fearful of the unknowns to a point that most would consider irrational, as is common for “my kind”.
I’m alone beside others who are not.
Looking down at cities, towns, and farmlands, they’re fragmented like glass shards by roads, railways, and edges of fields.
I find myself thinking about the microcosms of the individuals here contrasted against the macrocosm of that oddity that is the lot of us coming together on this one path at the same place and time.
A room full of people can feel like the loneliest place on earth, when every person there is just another reminder of your inherent failure to connect and/or understand. Paradoxically, sometimes it’s easier to remember you’re still human when you’re alone.
Someday I will finally have had enough.
When I feel an urge to talk about something I feel passionate about, something I’m excited about, something I feel good about — now I try to remember to stop, think, realize that the people around me are not interested and I must keep it to myself. I seal my mouth, suppress the urge, and feel the ache spread from my chest through my arm.
Once burned, thrice so fucking shy.
I’m so tired of being tired.
What’s your agenda?
I again tried visualizing myself as my opponent. The results were vicious.